focus on earnings

d a native p


oliceman, in khaki and red▓ turban.Under one arm he held the guidebook, a● tobacco box, a pipe, a spool o▓f film, and the leaf-wrapped lu▓nch that had made up the conten●ts of my knapsack.The sack itself, a ▓half-dozen letters, and the ●kodak-cover lay on the floor ▓under his feet.By some stroke of genius he h●ad found the springs that rele▓ased the back of the kodak, an▓d having laid that on the bench beside him, wa▓s complacently turning the screw

that unwound t●he ruined film, to the delight● of his admiring fellow-countrym▓en. The natives fled at my app▓roach, and the officer, dropping my possessions ▓on the floor, dashed for the shelter of the s▓tation-master’s office.I followed after to ●make complaint, and came upon him coweri▓ng behind a heap of baggage, his ha▓nds tightly clasped over the badge that bore hi▓s numb

er. “He says,” interp


reted the Eura▓sian agent, when I had demanded● an explanation, “that it is his duty to ▓look in empty compartments for lost articles●, but that he has not taken the li▓ttlest thing, not even a box of match

es●, and asks that you forgive him.If yo▓u cannot put the queer machine toge▓ther again, he will.” “The▓se fellows are always prying▓ into things like monkeys,” put in the

ted a mome


g●uard, “I’d make complaint to the insp▓ector at Bina.” A change came over the face▓ of the policeman.Till then he had been th●e picture of contrition; now he advanced▓ boldly and poured forth a delug

●e of incomprehensible lingo. “Why, wh▓at’s this” cried the station▓-master.“He says you assaulted him.” “▓Does he look like it” I demanded. ▓ “No,” admitted th

nt,● gaze
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